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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186884">Love, Always</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere'>BrytteMystere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Fae!Claire AU [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author Is Sleep Deprived, Codependency, F/M, Fae &amp; Fairies, Fae!Claire Beauchamp, Fae!Jamie Fraser (if rather more diluted than Claire), Guess Who Can Lie Better, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I didn't check with Season 1 before writing this so my memory is fuzzy, In which Laoghaire MacKenzie dies earlier than planned, The Author Regrets Nothing, and our couple gets married faster than per canon, playing fast and loose with the timeline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:35:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two human-shaped monsters laid tangled onto a hay-covered floor, as men searched around them, unable to see or detect their presence.</p><p>They were looking for the Laird's nephew, to march him into the oath taking that had his other uncle itching to murder him, and the ever mysterious Mistress Beauchamp, who had slipped her watchers and was last seen attacking none other than Dougal MacKenzie. They searched, and called out to them, scoured the grounds and beyond, till dawn came, and found nothing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Fae!Claire AU [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love, Always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What? Me? Updating something? Yes, I know, I know, astounding.<br/>Still, this series seems to write through me more than be consciously put in writing, so it should be no surprise that it would again take me over at unholy hours in the morning of a Sunday when I have work in like. Four hours.<br/>Hopefully you'll enjoy this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was something, itching beneath her skin. It may just be driving her mad, every day she spent trapped in Castle Leoch.</p><p>Always, always, always under watch. As if she truly was the spy they thought her to be. Claire couldn't make sense of it all. Nothing had made sense since she woke up by those stones, nothing had made sense at all for even longer than that.</p><p>Things were happening around her, to her, that she couldn't explain, and a simmering rage flowed through her flesh, her bones, her <em> soul,</em> pooling beneath her heart, burning.</p><p>Some days she awoke wanting so badly to tear Rupert and Angus to shreds she walked circles and circles around the Castle, if only vainly hoping that the exertion would keep her from doing something drastic.</p><p>And yet. <em> Yet</em>.</p><p>There was one point of solace in her wretched days, and that was him.</p><p>Mr. McTavish. She didn't know why, or how, but when near him a warmth she had never felt before sunk deep and soothed her like nothing ever had, since she was thrown into this loop of endless energy coursing through her.</p><p>The effect increased the closer she was, to the point of absolute intoxication. Thus, it would not be mistaken to say that she had become somewhat of an addict.</p><hr/><p>Claire did her best to focus her attention elsewhere, to try and figure out what had happened, how she had ended up in the past of all places, yet kept drawing blanks. A fog tightened around her mind whenever she sunk too deep in her musings, and she could feel the frenzy build up till she truly believed it would tear her apart to inflict itself on the world. To reach out and consume everything on its path, the kind of perfect consumption only the coldest level of hell could bring… and in those moments, unerringly, she would make her way to him, feet certain and unwavering like nowhere else, till her eyes took in the fire-bright redness of his hair, the soft assurance of his voice. He settled her, drew in her rage and confusion, her pain and her worry, leaving only a contented warmth that evolved to giddy joyfulness when she at last got close enough to get noticed, and those gorgeously blue eyes of his focused on her.</p><p>It was powerful, this feeling.</p><p>The kind of emotional high she couldn't escape, nor even wanted to.</p><p>A lingering memory of his chest against her back, the warmth of his body through the darkness of the night, the frigid air of their endless ride, kept at bay through his heartbeat and the delicious closeness of his plaid, wrapped around them.</p><p>She could almost imagine herself melting into him, or as she would eventually imagine, with his breath on her temple, and even later, with her hands on his shoulder and his eyes gazing up at her as if she was his sun… joining, frenzied and happily thrown into delirium, bodies becoming one for eternity.</p><p>All she wanted was him, and all <em> he </em> wanted was her.</p><p>She could tell, by his glances, by the way his cheeks took on the most adorable blush whenever she complimented him, his whole posture straightening as if he couldn't quite help preening for her. She could tell, by the hunger in his eyes, whenever she got too close, her hands on him.</p><p>Claire wanted to devour Jamie McTavish, and he seemed more than ready to be devoured in turn.</p><p>Which is why, when she caught him kissing some blonde wench in a corner, gaze rising to lock on her own, her reaction was… mayhaps far too overblown for their actual relationship status.</p><p>That is, he was her friend. A kind stranger who had kept being welcoming and gentle with her even as everyone else grew distrustful and wary of her glaringly obvious otherness among them.</p><p>He was her friend. Just that.</p><p> </p><p>The wench, whom she would later learn was called <em> Laoghaire</em>, was found dead the next morning.</p><p>Claire wished she could be sorry… but she was certain he knew, as their eyes met during the announcement. The joy in her eyes, the pleased tilt of her smile, the sheer smugness in her whole demeanor, could hardly conceal it.</p><hr/><p>She stumbled into him that night, having been drawn to the stables without really knowing why, just feeling again the level of her tolerance fraying and <em> needing </em> so badly it hurt.</p><p>It was akin to following a glittering red thread only she could see, and she had been too busy trying to discern where exactly it was leading when her feet stumbled into something and a warm, graceful figure pinned her to the hay-covered floor.</p><p>It was him.</p><p>Jamie, sweet, intoxicating, gorgeous Jamie, whose pupils widened like a cat's upon realizing it was her whom he had caught, before narrowing to slits as the hands that had just softened their hold on her grew tighter on her wrists again.</p><p>She had categorized his every weak point, at a glance. Stared at the very place that hid his jugular vein and <em> knew </em> she could have tore it out with her teeth if needed, that for all his strength she was wily and resourceful enough to throw him off if needed, but… she didn't <em> want </em> to.</p><p>This, having the hardness of his body pressing down on hers, his darkened eyes focused on her and only her lightning something deep inside her that left her wet and aching.</p><p>Her thighs opened and she felt him settle further onto her, without seeming to realize it. Their bodies fit so well, it fired her further up, and all she wanted was to have him, right then and there.</p><p>They were <em> meant to be</em>, she felt it as certainly as she had once felt her call to medicine, and everything in her was aching to have it consolidated. Consumated. She <em> wanted him</em>.</p><p>But right when it seemed he would give in, let go of whatever had worried him all day, his beautiful face drawn into a frown she wanted to caress away… his resolve seemed to strengthen and those catlike eyes refocused on her with less amorous intentions.</p><p>"Sorcha… Sorcha, did ye kill the lass?"</p><p>His voice made her giddy, close as they were, when she could feel its very vibration from his chest to her own. And she faintly recalled the previous night, when the foolish girl had come to her basement surgery, asking for a magic potion to get Jamie's love.</p><p>She recalled the rage that had tinted her sight red, and words tearing from her lips like wips to annihilate the <em> little slut </em> who thought to…</p><p>Her eyes widened, realization dawning as the fog of simply knowing her <em> dead </em> and having Jamie focused on her alone again gave way to the sudden realization of what she had <em> done</em>.</p><p>There was a beat, a whispered <em> oh </em> from her lips, a moment held in time as her being refocused as well, something mostly asleep but ever reaching, ever hungry, could be briefly glanced through her eyes.</p><p>Claire knew she should be feeling regret, or some manner of sadness, even horror, at having apparently been able to order a teenage girl to go die in the very spot Jamie had kissed her at. But it never came.</p><p>"You <em> kissed </em> her," came instead, an accusation she had never quite intended to express out loud, flowing unbidden even as something in his gaze echoed the beast hiding within her, if fainter, more distant. "You shouldn't have kissed her, Jamie. You knew it would upset me, didn't you?"</p><p>A strange sensation had blossomed on her chest, a coldness that defied even his eternal warmth, holding onto her from the inside out even as a force pushed it down. It clawed forth, hungry, endless, <em> wanting</em>. Curious, eventually. Even mischievous.</p><p> </p><p>She could feel her head tilt slightly to the side, golden eyes locked onto his ocean blue, a smug smile pulling her lips as his eyes couldn't quite help but glance at the bared skin of her neck, the thin, decorative fabric adorning it drawing further attention to its soft, pearly whiteness, almost inviting him to dive in and mark her with endless kisses. To paint her skin purple-red with his lips, and show everyone who dared glance her way lasciviously that she was already taken. He licked his lips, gulping, before his gaze focused on hers, mildly annoyed at his own reactions to the homing beacon she was to him.</p><p>
  <em> "Sassenach…" </em>
</p><p>His voice was lower, urgent, domineering. He demanded an answer, and before she was even aware of giving it, it had already left her lips.</p><p>"<b>Yes</b>."</p><p>Time stood still again, left them locked in that endless moment again, as emotions flew through his eyes and her inner beast found its echo in him again.</p><p>She knew that he knew why. How, even. It made no sense and defied every explanation, but it still was fact.</p><p>Somehow, the previous night she had held hold of a foolish girl's every blood vessel, lashed her to her will towards the very place of the grievous offence, and left her burn from within there, her blood boiling within her veins and she remained unable to scream, unable to move, unable to beg for help or succor.</p><p>This, Claire had done. Somehow.</p><p>Laoghaire had been found dead, horrifically burnt, at that very spot, <em> lascivious whore </em> and <em> unholy witch </em> branded as if by red hot iron onto the back of her thighs.</p><p>Claire shifted, then. Her thighs closed around his, the fabric of her dress and his tartan keeping their flesh apart even as she pressed up, against him.</p><p>Her clothing was too bothersome to feel much beyond his warmth, the firmness of his flesh as she pressed against it, but he gasped, his face falling where her neck met her shoulder even as his hips pinned her further down on the floor.</p><p>His breath on her skin was maddening, and she felt she could tear into him if it would get him to <em> move </em> and do what had to be done.</p><p>"She was just a lass, Sorcha. I never felt anything for her-"</p><p>"You <em> kissed </em> her," she said again, her voice more growl than melody. "You <em> looked at me </em> as you <em> kissed </em> her, and she <b>had</b> to die."</p><p>"Sorcha… <em> Claire…" </em></p><p>His voice was wrecked in a way that took her breath away, and her rage, her jealousy, till she was only left with the faintest feeling of discomfort. An edge of tears was building in her eyes, and tearing out his neck was seeming more and more tempting.</p><p>"I know she was <em> younger </em> and <em> pretty </em> and followed you around like a bitch in heat, but <em> Jamie</em>…"</p><p>Her voice was broken too, now. A mess. She almost hated him.</p><p>She could feel his lips on her own, their breath mingling, bodies leaning into each other till the very spectre of Frank, his blood hardly washed from her hands, pulled her away from him. From him, and his eyes, and his warmth, burning harder than the fire that had boiled the water she used to treat his wounds, by the sheer magnetism that drew them to each other.</p><p>That had been their first time alone at Castle Leoch, when he had allowed her to see his back and told her of the monster who had attacked them both.</p><p>She had felt it consolidate then, the pull between them stronger than before, and it had scared her.</p><p>So she had pulled away, and avoided him, yes. But she had been <em> grieving</em>, saying her last goodbyes to a husband who had given his <em> life </em> for her, even if she didn't know why things had ended as they did.</p><p>So yes, she had been partly hot and cold towards him. That still didn't give him the right to go off to suck face with that spiteful chit.</p><p>And yes, Claire herself knew this reasoning made no sense whatsoever, but it felt too right to deny or contradict.</p><p>There was an undeniable connection between her and Jamie, they both had felt it, had <em> known </em> in some way from the very first time they met, and to have that repeatedly threatened by that godawful chit, to see her <em> making out </em> with him… it had led her right to the edge and beyond.</p><p>They were still on the ground, tangled together and trembling, both beset by some unfathomable force from within, inhuman and scary and <em> extremely prone to murder </em> that had been awakened and drawn to the surface by their every interaction.</p><p>
  <em> "... I'm glad." </em>
</p><p>His voice was a whisper on her skin, shame written on every part of his body even as his voice vibrated with the sheer joy he couldn't repress.</p><hr/><p>James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser, currently known as Jamie McTavish, had always felt a tad alienated from his fellows.</p><p>He was quite good at pretending, mind you, but there remained some part of him deep down that was far too sharp.</p><p>His older brother, Willie, had once joked that he had to have inherited the Fair Folk temper for them all, for it had long been rumoured that Black Brian's mother, the one who had so enticed old Lovat, had been part Fae.</p><p>Or a witch, rumours varied.</p><p>Still, there had always been something <em> off </em> within him, something he poured his heart and soul to hide and deny, something easily put down even as the monster who had quite possibly raped his sister offered him <em> mercy </em> for the chance to bugger him.</p><p>As if being taken by such a repulsive individual would be at all better than the bite of his whip.</p><p>No, Jamie had stood his ground, holding in the beast he had grown subjugating, even as his blood flowed down his back and he felt his consciousness slip.</p><p>Two hundred lashes.</p><p>His father's corpse.</p><p>Being declared an outlaw, accused of murdering a Redcoat when he was so weak he couldn't even properly ride his horse, needing his <em> ghoistidh </em> to hold him tight before him like a sack of grain lest he fall from Donas.</p><p>Nothing had ever fully awakened the demon - and it had to be a demon, or some manner of Fair Folk curse - regardless of the sheer severity of events, till… till he first saw her.</p><p><em> Claire Beauchamp, </em> dressed in white and covered in blood that had long ago coagulated on her fair skin, looking like a druid of old, or mayhaps even a fairy herself, eyes golden in such a hue that should by all rights have never been seen in a human, walking to him like a long-forgotten dream, materializing as if from fog, her touch sinking down to his bones, even further in towards his soul, and at last unleashing a beast slumbering from the very moment of his first heartbeat.</p><p>She set his shoulder, and the sharp pain, followed by extreme relief in its absence, echoed that of the long leashed monster freed at last, merging with his very soul then and there, meeting her eyes, and knowing the woman was <em> his</em>, and he was <em> hers</em>.</p><p>He couldn't make sense of it at all, but his world had taken a sharp turn till all he knew, all he cared about, was having those golden eyes on him, her hands on his skin, the painful distance between them gone.</p><p>Mistress Beauchamp was the woman he was meant to marry, the matching partner of his soul, and he knew this with a certainty that overran everything. From that night on, his God was her and her alone, and he couldn't even muster regret or apology for the sheer magnitude of his heresy.</p><p>It was hopeless, and he wouldn't change a thing.</p><p>So to have her, kiss her, for the very first time, feel how much her feelings echoed his own, and have her pull away for the memory of a man who had <em> had her</em>, had <em> married her </em> and <em> bedded her</em>, who had taken her love and kept her away…</p><p>It set him aflame in a way that sank and lingered, without his reason being able to steer him from what mess his irrational impulses brought him to do.</p><p>So yes, he took a beating for a lass who'd long believed herself in love with him, and basked on the sheer joy of having his Sorcha touching him again, putting him to rights, longing for her kiss once again, for every scrap of attention she would grant him, and more.</p><p>He was drawn to the most ridiculous highs of reckless idiocy for her, from taking a trembling boy from a pillory to walking into a cursed ground by her side. Whispering the story of the Woman of Balnain to her ear, drinking from her cup, and lying through his teeth in order to draw her away from the crowd in her drunken stupor, into the solace of her little surgery, where even stumbling and hardly able to walk in a straight line, her hands hadn't trembled while touching him, checking his healing wounds even as her voice scolded him for tricking her.</p><p>It truly didn't surprise him that he had done something as unwise as drawing a foolish lass into this tug war he had going on with his wife to be, and part of him had clearly known, as his gaze met those inhumanly gorgeous golden eyes, that Laoghaire's life was over.</p><p>Still, he had leaned in, and kissed her, pretending to perfection that she was the most intoxicating fruit as his eyes never left his Sassenach, as he saw her look less and less human by the second, the Auld One she could hardly hide with all that perfect beauty of hers, that deadly yet inescapable attraction, sharper to a knife point.</p><p>His Sorcha had looked furious, murderous, and he had soaked in her every expression, the intensity of her focus, like the crops soaked the sun's rays. It was magnificent.</p><p>He was daring her to try and pretend that dead husband of hers who should have never been could still get between them, the itching need to become <em> one </em> as they always should have been. He knew, even then, what her answer would be, and couldn't bother to care, in the red tinted cycle of destruction her pulling away had sunk him into.</p><p>Mayhaps she had killed the lass, but he had been the one to mark her for the slaughter.</p><hr/><p>Two human-shaped monsters laid tangled onto a hay-covered floor, as men searched around them, unable to see or detect their presence.</p><p>They were looking for the Laird's nephew, to march him into the oath taking that had his other uncle itching to murder him, and the ever mysterious Mistress Beauchamp, who had slipped her watchers and was last seen attacking none other than Dougal MacKenzie. They searched, and called out to them, scoured the grounds and beyond, till dawn came, and found nothing.</p><p>Meanwhile, from the stables towards the basement surgery, two matched souls came to an agreement.</p><p>And wrapped in the darkness of the night, the faintest rays of moonlight reaching them, they made their vows, promised themselves to the other, and consummated their union that very night, in a frenzied encounter that preceded many more, the blood still freshly drawn from their wrists, healing faster than any human wound should have, as their blood had mixed and their union was complete.</p><p>By dawn, still weakly grasping at each other, tangled in sheets wet by their sweat and other fluids, there was little more than bright pink lines left.</p><p>And if Jamie's skin had paled, his hair's tone resembling freshly spilled blood more than it ever had… only Murtagh seemed to notice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Is Laoghaire dead? Yes. Is Jamie definitely part Fae somewhere? Yes.</p><p>Are these two married and bedded? Definitive yes.<br/>Dear gods, I truly don't know what this series is even doing.<br/>I kept rewriting this part, unable to fully keep going on after the frenzied pace of the previous parts had drained me and my mind wandered to other fandoms, only occasionally thinking about tiny tidbits I would love to include, but... here we are.</p><p>The urge to write took me over at around 2am and I wrote this in one full swing till 5:30am, so here's hoping y'all smash that kudos button, thank you in advance, I'm off to nap for as long as I can before work calls meeee...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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